Interference
by dreamingofrain
Summary: Harry should have known better than to think it was over. After all, when does trouble not find him? Even in death? Now he's stuck in a world that's not exactly his, where Voldemort knows the entire prophecy. DH-compliant.
1. From the Ashes

**Interference**

_A Harry Potter fanfic_

By dreamingofrain_  
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**A/N: **This is first attempt at delving into the world of Harry Potter. Suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome, but please bear in mind I'm writing this for fun only. It's an idea that's been in my mind for a while now and I've finally decided to give it a go.

**Summary: **Harry should have known better than to think it was over. After all, when does trouble _not_ find him? Even in death? Now he's stuck in a world that's not exactly his, where Voldemort knows the entire prophecy and both boys that could have been his equal go unmarked. Harry has to figure out how to stop a war, that's not really war just yet, before it's too late. The calm will not last forever, and the final hour is approaching.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the world of _Harry Potter_; those rights belong to J.K. Rowling and all the others that helped bring the series to life.

**Warnings: **Possible slash and heterosexual relationships, though nothing explicit. Torture, gore, and other not-so-pleasant things that war entails. This chapter alone includes suicidal themes that are _not_ befitting of a hero. Harry doesn't see himself as the hero he is, and that coupled with the manipulations, I could imagine him being depressed after the war. And if someone tipped him over the edge? It would be enough for him to end it. I have personal experience with losing someone through suicide and I do not take the matter lightly, please don't take this as such. But war heroes are more prone to depression and I thought the plot device an appropriate one as loath as I was to use it.

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_Chapter One - From the Ashes_

The war had ended. The long fight against the Dark had reached journey's end and from the destruction there would arise new life. As a phoenix from the flames, the endless cycle of life and death would continue on. It was nothing new, nothing that wasn't expected.

Harry Potter felt strangely empty at the end of it all. His work was done. He had saved the world and lived to tell the tale. But where did that leave him? He grinned bemusedly down at the Elder Wand in his possession, unsure what to do with it. As he had told the Headmaster's portrait all those days ago, he did not want it. There was no longer a need for it. Voldemort was gone. The greatest Dark Lord in over fifty years had fallen at the hands of a novice, a young wizard with everything to lose.

During the last great battle, he had fought for that very reason. For his friends, for his home here at Hogwarts, for the people who had given there lives to ensure that others could live. Those sacrifices would not be in vain, and he had made sure of that. It had not been an easy fight, but they had won. The war was over. It seemed so hard to accept. He had been fighting to live and living to fight for so long that now that it was over, that the fighting was done, he felt he had out-lived his usefulness. He could imagine the look on his best friend's face if he confided that in him. _"Are you crazy, mate? You defeated You-Know-Who! Live a little!"_

His grin dampened into a sad smile as he rolled the Elder Wand between his fingers. Yes, Ron would be insistent that this was only the beginning. It had to be, they had to keep going and live for those who couldn't anymore. There was only one problem with that and that was the wand. The only thing left to finish. He had to decide what to do with, where to hide it. The idea to seal it back away with Dumbledore's tomb had been reasonable at the time, but he had to think about the bigger picture.

The Elder Wand held a history of violence, one that would not go away no matter how well protected. The best bet was, as he had said in the Headmaster's office, to die undefeated. Then the wand would remain allied to him and him alone. He wasn't scared of death these days and it was an easy choice to make: whether to leave the wand to chance inside the restored white tomb before him, or die and take the power of the wand with him to his own grave. To be honest, his job was done. There was no more need for him, just like the wand.

His friends would try to talk him out of it, but he couldn't let them. He wouldn't allow more people to die. The location of the wand _would_ be found out; it was only a matter of time. The violence instilled by the wand had to end with him. Secure in his decision, he reached into the folds of his robes and withdrew a vial from the inside pocket. It was a fast-acting poison he had been able to brew within the time it had taken him to reach such a decision. And for once it was his own choice on how he would die. There was no prophecy to trap him, no enemy to defeat, only his friends would make life worth living – but he had to leave them behind. The stigma of the Elder Wand had to be stopped.

Uncorking the vial, he raised the blue poison to his lips and reached out a hand to steady himself against tomb in front of him. Then he drank, thinking of nothing but the faint pulsing of magic in his veins. The liquid tasted awful, but then he hadn't been expecting it to taste like treacle tart either. That would have been asking too much.

His insides felt like they were on fire even before he had finished drinking. Understandable, the book had said as much would happen, and he was prepared for it. The intensity of the pain certainly rivaled the Cruciatus Curse, but it was bearable enough for him to keep his mind clear and his objective in sight. Keeping steady, he made sure not to spill a drop. He had to drink it all or there would be the slightest chance of survival, a chance that could easily have someone finding him and giving him an antidote. That couldn't happen.

Determination won over the fresh waves of agony and he forced back the last of poison just as his legs gave out. The vial rolled from his hand and he rested his sweat soaked forehead against the white marble of the tomb, panting heavily in a desperate attempt to draw in breath. It hurt to breathe, to think; it was a battle to keep his eyes up and he gave up, closing them and drawing in a shallow, uneven breath of air.

It was a nasty little potion he had decided on, but he had thought it was fitting. A hint of an ironic smile curled on dry lips as the pain intensified. Surely Professor Snape would have approved of his demise. Through the haze engulfing his mind, he registered the Elder Wand slipping through his slack grip, a piece of rolled parchment fluttering to the ground beside it.

Then Harry Potter knew no more.

+.+.+

"Really, Ron. Even _you_ aren't that dim-witted. How could you believe what Malfoy was going on about? It's absurd."

Two lone shadows were prowling the castle grounds of their once school, the sun setting on the horizon. An hour ago their best friend had been seen sneaking off and they were determined to find him, to put and end to the rumours. So far they had had little luck in their pursuit.

"Think on it, though, Hermione. He's depressed. Hell, we're all depressed. We lost just as much as we gained. This … I could see Harry doing this. And I don't like it, not one bit. The prat's always going off, thinking he knows best."

"Yes, but Ginny …" The slimmer shadow sighed and tailed off as the focus of the conversation shifted into treacherous waters.

"I know what you're trying to say. Don't. She didn't mean it. I know that. You know that. Hell, even Harry knows that. And the bloody prat shouldn't have mentioned him in the first place."

"Ron!" scolded the voice of a woman, high-pitched and worried. "This isn't the time to go venting about it. What's more important, that or Harry?"

"Harry," her friend mumbled. "But he's still a right prat, Hermione."

"I never said he wasn't," allowed Hermione with a roll of her eyes, "though that's _not_ what matters. If anything, that should be the reason we're out here looking for him and not up at the school enjoying the feast. We have to drag his prat of an arse back up there and force him to eat. He looks like hell warmed over, Ron."

The young man at her side spared her a glance and shrugged. "No worse than usual, is it? Well, I'm not complaining. I have no problem dragging his sorry arse back. Just let me get a good kick up it first."

A withering glare later and the two of them were quickening their pace, channeling their disquiet into physical discomfort. It went unspoken how worried they were; it was always that way when Harry ran off without them. Even now with the war over they couldn't help but be on the alert, ready to stand by their friend. There were still plenty of Dark wizards out in the world awaiting their revenge; they wouldn't let one of their closest friends go down without a fight.

The white tomb that sat at the edge of the lake swam into view through the fading light. In front of it they could barely make out a crumpled form, but it was enough to have the two of them running to the grave. It couldn't be what they thought it was, they kept telling themselves.

The closer they came to the water's edge, the harder it was to pretend it wasn't true. The messy black hair, the robes of deepest emerald, the wand made of elder resting on the dew-strewn grass, it spoke of only one person they knew of. The mantra of _no, it can't be_ kept going, but the reality of the situation began to sink in. Hermione collapsed halfway to the tomb, too shocked to move, but Ron kept going forward with the tried and true tenacity of a Gryffindor.

"Get up," the redhead ordered the prone form on the ground, bending down and shaking a shoulder roughly. "Get up, you lazy git!" He didn't let panic override his mind, concentrating on waking Harry because his friend could not, _would not_, be anything but alive. His fingertips brushed the back of Harry's neck by accident and he pulled away immediately, hissing. Burns had appeared down the side of his hand and they were anything but pleasant. "Hermione, get over here!"

The force behind his words spurred the young witch into action. She let out a soft gasp as she neared her friend and took Ron's hand in her own. Shaking, she whispered aloud, "No. No, he wouldn't …"

"Hermione?"

The young witch dropped his hand and fixed her gaze on the unresponsive form that lay on the ground. Her eyes were too bright to be natural. "T-That's Dragon's Breath, Ron." Her voice was unsteady, but the finger she used to point out the vial did not waver. "We're too late." There was a hollow sort of resignation in the way she said it that made Ron stand a little straighter.

"Too late? What's that supposed to mean?" He reached down as if to shake Harry again, but Hermione stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. With sheer force, she dragged him away.

"It was poison, Ron," she spoke softly, as though speaking to someone recovering in the hospital. "And if that's the case, we can't do anything. Not unless we want to be burned within an inch of our lives." Her gaze fell to the burns on Ron's hand, causing him to flinch. "We have to wait for the fire to burn out."

As the sun sank lower over the horizon, the shadows deepened. The two friends stood huddled together, waiting, unable to look away and unable to help. It was one of the worst feelings in the world.

"What's that?" Ron was already kneeling down even as he spoke. When he next stood, there was a piece of parchment in his hand. He unrolled it and held it out for Hermione to read as well.

_If you're reading this, I guess I went through with my plan after all. Rest assured, I had my reasons. Give my love to Ginny and tell Ron and Hermione I'm sorry. This was something I couldn't avoid, though. As my final request, please find a way to bury the wand I took from Voldemort, and if you can, bury it with Professor Snape. He was truly the bravest man I ever knew._

Crumpling up the parchment, Ron threw it aside. His eyes were stinging and he rubbed insistently at them. "Who does the bloody prat think he is?"

Hermione didn't answer. She didn't have to. Instead, she enveloped him in a hug and buried her face in the crook of his neck to bite back a sob.

+.+.+

The _tick, tick, tock_ of a million clocks awoke the young man passed out on the floor. With a groan, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and blinked to dispel the heavy fog clouding both his mind and eyes. When it cleared, he could see – and that in its self sent off warning bells in his head. Since when could he see so clearly? He thought back to the last thing he could remember and cursed aloud. _This isn't King's Cross. Am I still alive, or is this truly what death is like?_

Harry Potter was of the opinion that not even death would allow him some semblance of normality. That would be too easy and altogether impossible after his rather short life of not normal happenings. Pushing a hand through his hair, he cursed again and began to get to his feet. Then, noticing his state of undress, he closed his eyes and visualized the formal robes he had been wearing for the Memorial Ceremony earlier. And there they were, lying innocently on the floor of this strange room, folded and ready to be worn.

He dressed quickly and then perused the room, taking in the many oddly shaped clocks and watches. There were even stone sun dials and hourglasses, though they were few and far between. One hourglass in particular struck him as interesting and he approached it with wary footsteps. After years of dealing with the strange and the extraordinary, he knew better than to think anything harmless. That, however, had never stopped his curiosity.

Reaching out a hand, he made to touch the fine wood the hourglass was crafted with, but stopped abruptly when a sound behind him caught his attention. Green eyes narrowed in suspicion and he pivoted on the spot, looking for the culprit of the noise. He took a step back when he noticed he wasn't alone.

"Welcome, Harry Potter, to the Hall of Eternity." Harry mouthed the word 'hall' in bemusement. It was awfully small to be a hall. "No doubt you're wondering about the size. Well, how to put it …" The tall, hooded figure of the person hummed to itself as it settled on what to say. "Time has been fickle in the past and likes to have everything, shall we say, together. Far easier to interact with those seeking a new adventure."

"And who are you?" It seemed the more pressing matter than what made a 'Hall of Eternity' a hall. Harry, for one, didn't like being in the presence of people who knew his name and didn't extend the same courtesy. To him, the only good thing that had come about was he now had reason to believe there was an exit since the archway behind the stranger had yet to close. If he could just cause a diversion, maybe he could get out of here before –

"Thinking of escaping, are you?" The stranger laughed and waved a hand, dissolving the archway back into nothing less than solid wall. Clocks swayed and moved back into place. There was no way out without barging through pendulums and concrete. "My name is easy to guess, child. For I am Time itself. It is the end of your life and yet it is not. Therefore I come before you asking that you accept a task that only you can take on."

At a loss to understand, he dimly replied, "Huh?"

"Ah, right. I should explain. Please, have a seat." As if by magic, two chairs materialized in the center of the room. But there was no wand or incantation, only Time and the lone young man who had supposedly died. Cautious to a fault, Harry edged towards the nearest chair without letting the stranger out of his line of sight. "No need to worry, my boy. I mean you no harm."

"Yeah, well, I get that a lot," he couldn't help but reply sarcastically. "Somehow, I always end up hurt."

Time merely laughed again and brushed back the hood that shadowed its face. The features of a plain young man were revealed, average in every sense of the word, and yet as Harry continued to look upon the features they changed and aged and then melded back into the same shape of the person before him. It was a bit disorienting, but he tried to focus on the here and now, not the 'what could have been's that were staring him in the face.

"So, er … why am I here?" _Shouldn't I be off to my next great adventure or something?_ He thought wistfully of Dumbledore and wondered why he couldn't be back at King's Cross, finally boarding that train that would have taken him to be with his parents and everyone else.

"Because, Harry, your next adventure lies in another time. Though it is very similar to your own. On some level you could call it an alternate reality."

"An alternate reality?" Harry repeated the phrase blankly. "Are you telling me there are other … other …" He couldn't get the words out and left it at that. It was too far-fetched to believe.

"Yes, there are other worlds out there. Other realities. Every choice you have ever made as had an equal and opposite reaction. Stemming from those choices are new realities, wherein a different decision was made, a different life was lived." Time paused to give Harry a chance to catch up. "Do you see now what it is I will ask of you? No? There is a time in which you should be alive, but you aren't. The repercussions of your decision to end your own life not only hurt yourself, but yourself in another time as well. In other words, an opening was made so your soul could live on. Death cannot accept a soul that still has a purpose. And your purpose, Harry Potter, is to continue where the other left off."

"But why -" There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but they fell flat in light of a more pressing matter. "I can't take over someone else's life," he stated fiercely, crossing his arms. "Why would I want to?"

Time smiled and held out a hand for Harry to take. "Would you like to find out? Maybe see why he no longer has a purpose?"

Against his better judgment, Harry did.

+.+.+

It was comparable to Legilimency, the feeling was as if someone was shuffling through his thoughts and memories, except the memories weren't his own.

There were flashes of friends and family that weren't his, of fires glowing in hearths that weren't Gryffindor's. There was a girl sitting beside him in the library, reading a magazine upside down while they laughed together. Two boys were picking on a younger boy who only wanted his toad back and Harry stepped in to help. The pain of being pushed down overwhelmed him for a moment since the boys refused to back down. Then the images began to slow and finally stopped at one memory in particular, the details sharper and much more obvious than the others had been.

A person that could have passed for him, if not for the absence of a curse scar, strolled through a forest with a blatant look of frustration set upon his face. In the distance there was a scream and the not-Harry was thoroughly startled before realization took over. He was off and running like there was no tomorrow towards where the sound had originated from.

The memory skidded to a halt as the scene unfolded. A little girl had slipped and fallen into an underground cavern that had been hidden among the fallen leaves and tree limbs. Beside her was a beautiful golden collie that stood guard over the girl, peering up distrustfully at the new arrival. The collie was favoring its front paw too, Harry noticed, leaning more to the right to keep on its feet. An injured dog and a scared little girl, what did that have to do with him?

"Just keep watching," Time insisted, and the memory started back up with a vengeance. The girl called out in a panic-stricken voice and the not-Harry was already soothing her nerves by telling her not to worry, he wouldn't let anything happen to her. It was working for the most part, but the girl refused outright to let go of the dog when he reached her.

It would have been easy to use magic if the girl weren't a Muggle. As it was, the girl had to be convinced he was there to help her as well as the dog. Once that was done, it was another few painstaking moments before he had the little girl safely back on solid ground. Then the not-Harry was going back for the dog, and that was when things started to go wrong. Loose soil caused him to slip on his way back down and he fell, spraining his wrist. The collie was by his side in a heartbeat, nudging him to get up while the little girl from above cried, her tears going unnoticed as their hero collected himself.

The not-Harry wasn't someone to gave up easy, though, and he was already on his feet and calculating how best to lift the dog. He settled on surreptitiously casting a Weightless Charm since the girl was distracted and attempted to brave the climb upwards with the dog under one arm. It was rough, slow work, but this Harry was nothing if not persistent. _Much like me in that respect,_ Harry thought with approval, _I wonder how different we really are, then._

One major difference was the not-Harry tired out faster than the one currently watching the events unfold. He managed to get the dog up and out, but he lost his balance in the process and fell once more into the depths of the underground chasm. When he hit the ground this time, he was knocked unconscious. The little girl was crying harder, consoled only by her dog. It would have been all right if the girl had gone for help, but she was too young and too scared to know what to do.

By now the storm that had been brewing lashed out, rain and lightning splashing against morning sky and darkening it. Harry watched in horror as the chasm filled with water. Even if the girl took off and ran to the nearest town and back, there would be no hope of surviving. He understood now how this Harry had died, but he couldn't quite figure out what any of it meant.

"Do you see why he no longer had a purpose, Harry?"

As if coming out of a tunnel filled with fog, he shook his head to clear it and looked straight at the man sitting opposite him. "I don't see anything, to be honest." The irony had him smirking slightly. "So are we going to get to the point, or should I just sit quietly and hope for the best?"

"Cheeky brat." Time was smiling again, as if he expected nothing less. "Well, it seems your other self was quite the hero you turned out to be. If he hadn't saved two lives that he thought were more important than his own, he probably would still have had a purpose to stay in that world. As you can tell, that's not the case."

Harry shook his head again, refusing to believe. "You can't tell me life's based on just that. Isn't there … well, isn't there more to it than that?"

"Possibly, but if there is, it is not my place to say. You'll have to make due with what you know. You're a resourceful boy; make the best of the situation."

Before Harry could further the argument, there was a flash of blinding light and he was drifting in a sea of nothing but black. When he next awoke, he was positive it had been a dream. A very vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless. The problem: he was drowning, and in _his_ world that wouldn't have been happening. His hand automatically went to search for his wand while he choked on water he hadn't been prepared for. Panic started to set in when he couldn't find it in his back pocket. Trying to remember where he had seen the other Harry put his wand, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the hidden wand, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

_Now to get out of here without scaring the girl …_ He preformed the bubblehead charm quickly to give himself some time to think, blinking away blood that had dripped into his eyes. _Must have hit his head on the way down._ There was no way of getting around the girl seeing him perform magic, he decided, and propelled himself up and out of the chasm. The girl didn't seem to notice, her face buried into the collie's thick fur as she sobbed. Breathing a sigh of relief he removed the charm and approached the girl slowly. He had to check her for injury, make sure she was okay.

"Are you hurt?" He was surprised at how hoarse his voice was, but didn't let it show. After all, he had almost drowned and the other him had done_ more_ than an almost. To be surprised at his own circumstances would give him away, especially if the girl knew him better than he knew her. He crouched down at her side and attempted a half-hearted smile when she looked up, disbelief marring her childish face. "All right there?"

"You … you're alive!" The little girl launched herself at him and he flinched when she jarred his injured side and wrist. "O-Oh, sorry. Should I, um, should I go call for help, mister?" Ah, that took care of whether or not he was supposed to know her.

His smile turning a bit more genuine, he shook his head and answered, "No, I'm fine; I can find my own way back, thanks. You, on the other hand, need to be getting home. Where do you live?"

A guilty look flashed across her small face and she started to pout. "But I don't want to go home. No one wants me there."

Harry could sympathize with that, but it was for the best she went home where she would at least be safe. _Because trouble always seems to find _me_, no matter where I am._ "Are you sure they don't miss you? How do you know your family's not worried sick?"

"I – I sort of had a fight with Daddy." The girl shuffled her feet while the collie nudged her side, wanting attention. "He doesn't like Albie," Harry guessed that was the dog as she sent the poor thing a sorrowful look, "and if I can't keep him, I don't know what I'll do. Daddy and Mum are always away on business, so it's just me and the housekeeper …" She trailed off, looking far too lost and alone.

Sighing, and knowing he was going to regret this, Harry suggested, "Why don't I keep Albie until you can get your dad to see reason? You can come visit, if you like. I won't keep him from you. But you have to promise me you'll go home, all right?" He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms with some difficulty, waiting for her to take notice of his no-nonsense stance. _Sweet Merlin, I feel like a dad._ The girl seemed to think so, too.

She shuffled her feet a bit more and then looked up, biting her lip. "And you'll make sure he's feed, mister?"

"Of course. And my name's Harry. What's yours?" _And I'm sore, so let's hurry this along so I can find a quiet place to nurse my wounds._

"Emily," she brightened at the introduction, a smile gracing her tear-stained face. "Can I come by tomorrow to see Albie?"

"Er, sure. How about we meet here again?" At her confused expression, he explained, "I'm not supposed to have friends over during break." It wasn't too far off from the truth. At the Dursleys he really _wasn't _allowed to have friends over, and before Hogwarts, he hadn't had any to begin with. _Though, does this Harry live with the Dursleys or somewhere else? Gee, thanks, Time, for being oh-so-helpful on keeping me informed. _He figured he would have to take everything in stride if he was going to keep his sanity here. First things first, getting the kid home. "How far do you live from here?"

"Not far." Emily pointed off in the distance, through a small cluster of trees that seemed to thin out quicker than the rest. "I'll be all right on my own. Just take care of Albie, mister." She hesitated and then held out one small hand. "Shake on it? A promise?"

Without missing a beat, Harry shook her hand, stating confidently, "It's a promise. Same time tomorrow, Emily."

"See you!" Then she was off and he was left alone with an injured dog and his own wounds to look after.

He gave Albie a considering look and then pulled out his wand. "Guess we'll fix you up first, shall we?" The Second War had ensured he knew his fair share of healing spells, if nothing else. Hermione had seen to that. A dull ache started up in his chest when he thought about his friends, the people he had left behind. _I was selfish thinking it had to end, that it _could_ end. _Now he would have to pay the price, the ultimate price for his selfishness.

There was no better place to start than to take care of the little girl and the injured dog this Harry had saved. _He was a hero, a true hero. I wonder what that makes me._


	2. Echoes

**A/N: **A big thank you to those who put this story on their favorites and alerts! I hope you continue to enjoy this. My apologies for taking so long with this chapter, but it took a while to figure out how to introduce certain characters. As a minor heads up, this chapter and the next will be slow paced, but don't worry. Things will speed up as the story progresses.

Any and all reviews are welcome!

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter for full disclaimer.

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_Chapter Two – Echoes_

The forest was quiet, too quiet. Morning slipped into mid-afternoon and still Harry remained on edge. It was fear keeping him alert, fear of what this world's Voldemort was up. If the Dark Lord was alive, then he would surely be out for blood. Though the absence of a curse scar upon his brow was an encouraging sign; this Harry hadn't been made into a Horcrux. Meaning, the realization hit him with a detachment he couldn't understand, there was a possibility his parents were still alive as well. His godfather, Cedric, Remus, Tonks, all those lives that had been taken during the Second War could be alive here.

The elation of those thoughts quickly evaporated as cold dread took over, pooling in his stomach and making him sick. How many lives _had_ been lost in this war? For if Voldemort was still around, surely there was a war. There was so much left to uncertainty, so much left for him to find out. He couldn't blend in with this world if he didn't suitably know the part he was to play. He considered feigning amnesia, but a doctor or Healer would know he was lying through his teeth.

Giving it up as a bad job, he settled on taking everything in stride. He could act under pressure, of that he was certain. The only thing he had to worry about was the possibility someone would start to look too closely at the person behind the façade. Then he would have to answer questions he would rather avoid. Shaking off the remains of such thoughts, he glanced down at the collie that followed obediently at his heels.

Together with Albie he was making his way back through the forest, trying to recall the other Harry's memories and where to go from here. Up ahead, the trees began to thin out and a village came into sight. He shifted his injured arm restlessly and wondered how much attention he would attract. Maybe someone would be able to heal it. He hadn't been able to mend the bones in his forearm, the feat of fixing something broken well outside his realm of expertise. In the end, he had settled for conjuring a self-made splint and placing the injury in the safety of the sling to avoid too much movement, accidental or otherwise.

It was still pouring down raining when he arrived at the edge of the forest, about to forsake the shelter of the trees. But the village he could see in front of him could be mistaken for no other: He was in Godric's Hollow. After the events of last Christmas, he would be hard-pressed to forget the place. Wanting a better look, he strode ahead of the collie that seemed to want to linger in the dim shadows of the forest. He didn't think to question the dog's behaviour and moved with purpose, heading towards the center of town in search of a war memorial that would tell him part of the truth he sought. Whether his parents had lived or died, the memorial would reveal to him the answer.

The large, pale gray stone loomed in front of him and he grinned, quickening his steps. Albie let out a bark that could have meant anything. He didn't stop to consider it. Neither did the faint growling from the dog give him pause. His mind was set on one thing and one thing only: getting to that monument. It was so close he could almost make out the faint shimmer as the magic from the stone reacted to his, revealing itself to him. Just as he glanced up to make out the faces of the family, something barreled into him with enough force to knock him to the ground.

"There you are, Harry!"

Harry bit back the retort he dearly wished to give, rubbing gingerly at his injured arm to ensure the fall hadn't made it worse. As far as he could tell, there were no further breaks. Green eyes rose angrily to connect with those of the culprit's, but the words died in his throat. "_You_!" He hissed with sudden pain as he tried to stand up too quickly. There was no way he was going to lay around, though, helpless, while this man was around. Peter Pettigrew was a traitor and a coward and those watery eyes could see nothing but the road to power and that would never be okay, not in his opinion.

"Ah, sorry about that, Harry. Need a hand up?" Harry shook off the pretense, refusing to let the man help in any way. "You just had everyone worried, running off like that. What could you have been thinking?"

_Probably trying to get as far away from you as I could_, he thought savagely and glared. "What's it to you?"

Peter frowned and reached out to place a hand on the younger man's shoulder. Harry flinched away, putting distance between them. "I know you're angry with me, Harry, but that's no reason to go around accusing people like you did this morning. In front of your parents, no less!"

Starting at the mention of his parents, Harry covered up his surprise by narrowing his eyes and demanding, "If I accused _you_ of being a Death Eater, then am I wrong?"

A pained expression flitted on and off Peter's face. "Now, now, Harry. If anything, you shouldn't be getting too attached to Remus. Do you even know what he is?"

"I see you didn't deny being one," bit out Harry, "or is passing the blame something you do all the time? Oh, sorry. I believe it is."

Beady blue eyes blazed with fury. The truth had been lost on either of them. "You would do better to hold your tongue in the presence of some people," Peter warned, "or you might find you have an … accident."

Harry couldn't keep a grin from showing. "Already had one of those." He gestured to his broken arm. "But thanks for the offer. I'll be sure to keep it in mind."

For a moment, a flustered impatience showed through Peter's well-honed façade. Then it was gone and the shorter man was coldly detached once again. Eyes scanning the injury, Peter let slip a delighted grin of his own. "Using magic already, Harry? Be careful you don't wind up in court. What ever would your parents say?"

_Threatening me? Well, you're going to have to do better than that. I put up with Snape for nearly six years, I think I can hold my own. _Deciding two could play at that game, Harry's grin only grew. "Oh, I don't know. I imagine Dad would be proud, don't you? Flaunting the rules, isn't that what you and your friends are so good at, Pettigrew?"

Peter's eyes narrowed in an almost suspicious way, but Harry shrugged it off as anger. "Surely you would hate to disappoint your mother, though."

Fighting back a wince, Harry admitted to himself that yes, he _would_ hate to disappoint her, but he also knew he would never knowingly do so. _What does he mean, 'using magic, already?' I'm over the age of seventeen, doesn't that mean I can?_

"Well, come on." Peter gestured impatiently. "Lily's having a fit. Your coming-of-age party starts in a few hours time and you're out here running around. Really, Harry, am I so bad a person you can't stand to be near me?"

_Yes,_ Harry thought without hesitation. He was infinitely proud that this Harry had figured Peter out, even if the man was apparently still friends with James and Lily Potter. _Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. _Then something else registered in his mind – a coming-of-age party. No wonder Peter had been 'concerned' about his use of magic.

The Ministry could be used in many ways to send someone to jail. Technicalities which lead to imprisonment were all too common. _So I guess this Harry is getting ready to start his Seventh Year at Hogwarts._ His heart warmed at the conclusion. He hadn't been able to finish his last year at school and here was an opportunity to do just that. Never mind that there would be more people to fool. It would be worth it.

Without a word to Peter, he turned and headed towards the house that belonged to his family, his heart racing in his chest.

+.+.+

The cottage was the same one he remembered, but different and not from the rain that pelted against the windows and walls. The hedge was tame and trimmed, the grass cut to match the neighbors and the rest of the impeccable lawns. There was no rubble littering the ground nor ivy or snow covering the house as he had once seen. It was summer, Harry reminded himself; of course there was no snow. The roof was still intact, too, or had been repaired. It did look a little worse for wear.

He stood alone at the front gate, gaze fixated on the cottage. It looked far more lived in than he had ever seen it. The difference was staggering. Placing a hand on the gate, which wasn't rusted with age either, he pushed it open. For the first time hoping to meet a family he had never known inside, a family that would have been his.

If it hadn't been for Tom Riddle, he could have lived a normal life, _this_ life.

He paused to take in the front door, which had a wrought iron knocker in the shape of a griffin. The knocker reminded him of the one in the Headmaster's office and he smiled at it, half-convinced his parents had purposely replicated it. He raised a hand to knock, trying not to feel too silly. If this really was where he lived, knocking would seem a bit redundant.

Before he could do anything, however, a hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed, eliciting pain.

"In a bit of a rush, Harry? You left so quickly you forgot your mutt," drawled the familiar voice of Peter Pettigrew, sounding like he was sniveling even when trying to be condescending.

Restraining a roll of his eyes, he forced off the offensive hand still on his shoulder and then the other from Albie before he could successfully coax the dog towards him. "Thanks, I guess. As, er … _helpful_ as always," Harry commented snidely.

"I live to please," was the restrained reply. "Remember that, would you, Harry?"

"Oh, I already knew that."

The door creaked open to reveal two curious people, forestalling the veiled conversation. "Having fun, you two?" an amused voice asked. "Come on, in you get. What are you waiting for, an invitation?"

Harry caught himself from openly staring. It was one thing to expect the unexpected, but to be confronted by it, out of the blue, was another thing entirely. Sure, he had learned his parents were alive because of the rat beside him, but he hadn't heard about this. There stood Sirius Black, looking far healthier and happier than his world had allowed, and standing beside the man was a woman he had only met once before, a talented witch that had once served in his Advance Guard back in Fifth Year. Emmeline Vance was once more among the living, brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, her honey eyes alight with mischief, her smile whimsical – and a ring on her finger with the Black Family crest.

Caught between happiness and a certain emotion he couldn't place – one that could have been sadness, he had wavered too long outside and now had to force his mind back to the present. He stepped into the foyer, behind Peter much to his chagrin, and smiled back politely at Emmeline who offered to take his jacket.

Handing it over to her, he followed Sirius further into the house, Albie at his heels.

"So Wormtail found you, huh?" The dark-haired man laughed and playfully messed up his godson's hair. "You should lay off him today, all right? Enjoy your party. You _know_ me and Emmy put a fortune into this thing."

Green eyes widened at that, but not for the reason Sirius probably thought. _He's the one throwing me a party? Does that mean …is it Sirius who lives here?_

"Harry!" the kind voice made him freeze and his breath caught his throat at the sight of Remus Lupin. The werewolf was nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get to Harry, concern evident in every line of his face. "How did you get hurt? Was it Peter? If he laid a hand on you, I swear I'll …"

"It should be who gets the honor of hurting Wormtail, if that's the case," interjected Sirius with a raised eyebrow in the rat's direction. "So was it you, then? Or did you find him like that?"

Peter shifted nervously, but held his ground. "If you're talking about him looking like a drowned mouse, I'd have to say yes."

"I think Sirius means his arm," Remus gritted out between clenched teeth, his amber eyes darkening with rage.

Watching them was enough to find out three things. For one, Peter wasn't too high on Remus's list of favorite people. Another, Sirius seemed willing to give the rat a chance. And lastly, if any of the accusations, from Remus or otherwise, were proven right, Sirius would be the first to rip Peter limb from limb.

Peter, too, seemed to realize that, for he swallowed thickly and squeaked out a, "It wasn't me. Harry, tell them it wasn't me."

Harry entertained various lies, some of the tales including Peter Pettigrew's true nature as a Death Eater coming to light. He, however, knew better than to spin a tale so far off from the truth. He would need something believable if he was going to keep the story straight when questioned.

Having decided on what to say, Harry bowed his head, shuffling his feet like a kid who had done something wrong and knew it. "I … well, I got lost in the forest outside the village. That's where I found this dog …" he trailed off aimlessly and gestured to Albie. The attention of the men focused on the dog, giving Harry a chance to gauge their reactions. Remus was appraising Albie with a slight smile, while Sirius seemed undecided on whether or not to like the new addition to the family. Peter, on the other hand, didn't show any signs of welcoming the dog.

"And then what happened, Harry?" Remus prodded gently, catching Harry's gaze for a moment before the boy ducked his head back to the floor.

"I sort of – fell in a hole." It sounded lame, even to Harry's ears, but it was the best way to describe things without going into detail. "I hurt my arm when I fell, I think it's broken and I didn't want to risk damaging it with magic." He adapted a rueful expression. "I managed to climb back out, with the help of a little girl who found me," he explained, "and she had an interesting to story of her own to tell. She ran away from home, I had to convince her to go back. But she said her parents didn't want this dog and I told her I would take care of him until she could change their minds."

"Very kind of you," Remus stated softly and bent down to run a hand through the collie's unkempt hair. "A beautiful dog. All he needs is a little work. A shame her parents won't keep the poor thing." Glancing up, Remus caught Harry's gaze again and winked. "I'll make sure to put a good word in for you so you can keep the dog, Harry, don't worry. Your parents should be back any minute, no doubt Emmeline's sending them the news of your safe return."

Sirius clapped his hands, beaming. "Now that we have that settled." He gave his godson a quick one-over. "You need a fresh change of clothes. Can't have the birthday boy getting sick, can we?"

"And what of his arm, Sirius?" Remus scolded. "We can't just ignore that. And Lily certainly won't. You know how upset she gets when one of her children is hurt."

_One of?_ Harry thought blankly. That couldn't mean what he thought it did, surely not.

"Nevertheless," Sirius plowed on, undeterred, "he needs to be warmed up and I'll not have him catching a cold on my watch." A wand slid out from the sleeve Sirius' jumper. With a small, jerky wave, a drying charm was cast, warming Harry to the bones. Then a subtle flick and flourish and his clothes were as good as new.

Making a note to learn those spells, Harry gave an appreciative smile and then allowed himself to envelop Sirius in a hug. It was all so surreal to have this happening, but as soon as his arms wrapped around the godfather he had lost, everything solidified into truth. _He's really here. _I'm _really here._

Sirius laughed, genuinely amused, and pushed him away. "What's come over you? You haven't even seen my gift yet!"

"A boy needs a reason to hug is godfather these days, does he?" teased a voice near the door. Harry turned on the spot just as Emmeline entered the kitchen and grinned. "The kid's a Potter, sure, but he's got Lily's kindness. Don't forget that, love."

Flushing a little at the way she put it, Harry wasn't sure whether to correct her or not. He was saved the trouble of replying as a loud bang and then accompanying voices drowned out all other noise. He had only heard his parents' voices under the gravest of circumstances, so to hear them here and now, in a supposedly safe environment, he couldn't help but tense with fear.

Remus must have noticed his sudden stiffness because he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder from behind. "Don't worry, Harry, they're not as anger with you as you would think. You're a good, quiet boy. Your family knows that." Leaning in closer, he whispered, "And I believe you about Peter. We should have a talk later, cub."

The endearment had Harry at a momentary loss for words. These were people he had once known, but they weren't, he had to keep reminding himself of that. He had to keep his wits about him if he was going to fool them into believing he was someone he wasn't. _At least Lupin's helping. A lot. Maybe I could tell him what really happened ... _He crossed that idea off as a bad one. There would be too much left to chance if he did that. Remus would possibly have him committed to St. Mungo's Hospital. Specifically in the psychiatric ward if that were to happen. _And it won't, I'll make sure of that._ It was back to relying on sheer luck to get him through the months ahead.

"Harry James Potter, get over here right now, young man!" He would have jumped a mile in the air if Remus still hadn't been a restraining him with a hand on his shoulder. The older man waited until he had calmed down before ruffling his hair affectionately and nudging him in the direction of the voice.

Harry swallowed thickly and then stepped forward to meet his mother's eyes. The same eyes he had inherited. Something between sheer joy and agony gripped his heart. The conflict of what to feel did not lessen as she wrapped him in a firm hug as soon as he was in reaching distance. They were the same height, which made for a slightly awkward hug. It was few and far between when he received such affection, too, and it was nothing like hugging Sirius. With Sirius it had always been a brief, brotherly sort of moment, but not this. There was warmth and happiness and pure love enveloping him in a way only a mother's love could. He had always imagined this in his younger dreams - dreams about truly having a family that cared. And here, with her, was everything he could have wished for and more.

Except it wasn't his, he had to painfully remind himself of that. His real mother and his real father were dead, gone. There was no chance of them coming back. Before him were people he didn't know but would like to know if given the chance. He just couldn't think of them as his, because they weren't. He didn't deserve to be happy when the real Harry of this world had been cruelly taken from everything he held dear. _He may no longer have a purpose here, but to me, he does. I promise I'll make things right. _With the determination to fix things in mind, the need to go back to Hogwarts grew. The school library would surely have information about alternate realities and time. If not, there were other ways to go about finding things out.

"Oi, Lils! Lay off the boy a bit. Can't you see you're hurting him?" Some of his thoughts must have showed on his face for his father to sound so concerned.

He met his mother's worried eyes again and tried to smile. She had him at arms length, studying him, but it was close enough to see every frown and smile line upon her face. Her hair was still a vivid red, a red that hadn't even faded in death. Her eyes were a shade darker than his, he noticed, but no one had told him that. Nor had he been able to tell from the photographs he had of her.

Seeing her in person, in the flesh and blood and bone, made all the difference. He switched his gaze to his father and acknowledged the similarities everyone spoke of, but also took the time to notice the differences. Where James Potter was broad-shouldered and rugged, his son would always be slight and a bit shorter.

A heavy hand settled on the side of his face and he had to look up to pin his father with a questioning look. "How did you get hurt, Harry?"

Two unexpected gasps had him searching for the sources. He quirked an eyebrow as he finally saw the kids partially hidden from view behind Lily and James Potter. The oldest, a boy, appeared to be only a year or two younger than him and the youngest, a girl, could have been no more than eleven or twelve. They both had the most vivid red hair and no matter how much he wished to deny it and claim they were two Weasleys he had never met, it was unmistakable who their parents were.

"Aidan, Daisy, don't interrupt," James warned and dropped his hand with a sigh. "Harry, you -"

"Aw, save the lecture, Prongs." Sirius grinned as he stepped up behind his godson and pulled the kid into a backwards headlock. "He was only out for a walk. Accidents happen!"

James spared his best friend a withering look. "Oh, of course. But Harry seems to have too many of these so called 'accidents'."

Taking that as her cue to step in, Lily assured them, "As fascinating as all that is, boys; what matters now is fixing that arm." It only took her a quick study of the injury with a critical eye to know what they would need. After years of dealing with skinned knees, sprained ankles, and the other common injuries of the motherly trade, she had all the experience she could possibly need. "I'm guessing you broke it?" It was more of a statement than a question, but Harry nodded anyway. "That might be a problem. I'll make a fire-call to Hogwarts and see if I can't get Poppy over here." She was out of the room faster than anyone could blink, let alone stop her.

"Ah, Lils," James sighed and then finally turned from his son to address the other two children. "Aidan, go fetch a pain-relieving potion out of your mum's stash." He waited until the redhead had finished rolling his eyes and left before addressing the young girl. "And you, miss. _You _are grounded."

She didn't get further than, "But _dad_."

"I don't want to hear it, Dee. You purposely disobeyed me. I told you to stay with your brother and you didn't."

"I'll tell mum you're being unfair again," she threatened, arms crossed and face pale, highlighting the few freckles she had. "Aidan was the one teasing me, calling me a cry baby! I don't see why you're not grounding_ him_."

As fascinating as it was to watch, Harry turned his attention away from them and focused on the others in the room. Sirius and Remus were staring aimlessly in the opposite direction of the fight, waiting, and it was only Emmeline that seemed to be paying him any attention. He bit his lip and quickly looked away. Hopefully she was only expressing concern, but there was something odd in her gaze, something calculating. Then again, perhaps he was being paranoid and letting the whole situation go to his head.

When Emmeline sidled up to his side, placing a gentle hand on his arm and asking him to join her in the sitting room, he knew his intuition was right. She had caught on to what none of the others had: He was acting of character. Not hesitating, he did as he was told and followed her out to sit on the couch, Albie choosing to relax at his feet.

Emmeline perched on the arm of a recliner across from him and continued to study his expression for longer than necessary or polite. "Are you hurt anywhere else, Harry?" she asked quietly, dark eyes on him and assessing. "You're pale, shaking. Is it possible you have a fever?"

She wasn't able to reach out and touch his forehead from so far away, which he was grateful for. He nodded at her explanation and tried not to seem too eager to agree. "Are you sure?" It sounded like a test, a provocation, and he idly wondered why. "If there is ever anything you need to talk about, Harry, you know I would listen," she assured him in the same soft voice she had been using since they walked into the room. "I would be willing to even swear an Oath of Silence, if you'd just tell me how badly you're hurt."

Carefully pushing away the confusion at her words, Harry decided to be partially honest. "I almost drowned," he admitted just as quietly as her. "I don't really want to talk about it." _I caused this world's Harry to die, how can I explain that? I guess no matter where I go I'm nothing but a murderer. _He couldn't shake the thought, no matter how much he wanted to. He had killed Voldemort, and he had killed an innocent soul through his selfishness. Did that make him any better than Voldemort now?

The dark turn his thoughts had taken must showed on his face since Emmeline eased up on her questioning, expression softening as she reached out to place a hand on his knee. He flinched and stood for no other reason than a need to get away from all the concern. He didn't deserve any of it.

"Maybe you should go lay down," suggested Emmeline, such worry etched on her face, "I don't think you should be moving around too much just yet."

He would have protested, possibly yelled that he was_ fine_, but a smooth, cultured voice cut in with, "Always the martyr, aren't we, Potter?"

More out of surprise than anger, Harry stiffened, his back ramrod straight. It couldn't be true, the owner of that voice was supposed to be dead. At least, that was what his logical mind was telling him. Before the part of his brain that had already adapted to this world added: _But aren't quite a few dead people suddenly alive again? Is it really so shocking?_ It wasn't, although he didn't know how he was going to be able to handle this particular not-dead person. _While keeping up an act in the process, joy._

"Professor," he acknowledged, forcing himself to be civil. He needed to test the waters first, find out how this Harry was supposed to react. What better way than to use Professor Severus Snape, double agent and all-around snarky bastard, as a sounding board?

Slowly, as if to show disrespect instead of speaking with it, he turned to face the man. There was a raised eyebrow above the same black eyes that always reminded him of dark tunnels, ones that held no escape. Like everything else in this world, though, the man seemed different, happier even. Far less bitter than the Snape he had forever associated with detentions and everything unpleasant. There was still the greasy hair and hooked nose, but there weren't as many frown lines, as if this Snape had bothered to smile every so often – though the thought was disconcerting and he wondered, vaguely, if his mother had anything to do with that. Then immediately shut that thought off, as well as any others, as he recognized the tell-tale itch of a silent _Legilimens_. The last thing he needed was someone rifling through his mind.

He must have caught Snape off guard by the crude performance of Occlumency. If not, the man surely would have kept probing deeper into his thoughts, where he would have noticed the memories that should have been protected weren't. Simply because Harry did not possess the ability to shield more than his outermost thoughts. It would have taken more patience and skill than he would have had time for the past two years. Something he was going to have to rectify, especially if he was going to have any hope of surviving a year in close proximity with Snape – let alone actively fool him.

"Potter, a word. Now." That, Harry figured, was his cue to feign sickness and have Emmeline intervene. Unnecessary questions could wait until later. So, tossing the older man a patronizing smirk, he pretended to sway slightly. And it worked, spectacularly.

"Harry, sit down!" Emmeline was already at his side, insisting he lay down on the couch. He complied, mostly to avoid eye contact with Snape, though that didn't stop him from pulling a face at her fussing. She was nearly as bad as Madame Pomfrey. _Speaking of Pomfrey, why isn't she here? I thought mum was going to get her, not …him._

"What's all the commotion ab -" Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, glaring at the back of Snape's head. "What's _he_ doing here?"

"My thoughts exactly," drawled Snape. "Where did Evans run off to now?"

"I'm a _Potter_ as you well know, Severus," Lily scolded as she descended the staircase behind them, "either use my first name or at least get your facts straight." The tall, disheveled boy that Harry remembered being called Aidan dogged her step for step, carrying a heavy satchel. "But thank you for coming. You were always good at Healing."

Snape sneered, but it lacked the malice Harry was used to seeing. "I assure you there is nothing I am _not_ good at." Harry had the uncanny feeling that comment was intended for him - a subtle threat. One that insisted he should watch his back.

He smothered a smile behind a yawn. Unfortunately that brought the room's attention to him. The concern was nearly overwhelming and he had to fight to keep himself from flushing under the scrutiny.

"He's worse off than he admits," Emmeline piped up, "I hope you remembered to bring a Fever-Reducing Potion and some Dreamless Sleep, Severus."

"What do you take me for?" The sneer became more prominent, darkening the shadows of the man's face. "A fool? Of course I came prepared. I would, however, like to work in _private_." The dark eyes met Harry's, but the boy made it a point to look away. If he was cornered this early in the game, it was all over; he had to think of a course of action and fast.

"I don't think that'll be happening," Sirius interjected on his godson's behalf. "I would have to be stupid to trust you."

Harry could have groaned – what an easy opening. Snape was going to rip that statement to shreds and throw the pieces back in the man's face. Much to his surprise, Snape held his acidic tongue for once. When he looked up, curious to find out why, he saw black eyes glued on him, an impatient eyebrow raised. "Well, Potter?"

"Well, what?" he asked blankly. At the warning look sent his way from his mother, he added a polite, "Sir."

"Would you like to be healed some time today, or should I possibly stay for the festivities and seize my chance to embarrass you unequivocally?"

Getting to his feet, Harry knew he would have to stall. He needed a way out. _Damn, why couldn't Madame Pomfrey be here?_ "Sorry, Professor, but, er, I think I would prefer it if someone came with me," he tried, sounding apologetic.

"And _I_ would prefer it if some people could actually grow a brain, but alas, we cannot all have what we want, now can we?" Turning swiftly on his heels, Snape took off down the hall, no doubt to one of the spare rooms. Harry hurried to keep up since it seemed implied he had little choice in the matter. They entered what could have passed for a study and Snape instructed him to have a seat just as the door clicked shut behind them. "So, Potter, care to explain?"

Harry deliberately misunderstood. "Oh, right. I broke my wrist, Professor. Sorry to interrupt your summer for something like this. If I had known mum was going to bother you, I would have just let it heal naturally."

"I hold no doubts you would be that stupid, but that is not what I was referring to," the low, waspish tone of voice warned Harry that there would be no more playing around. He would have to be careful or Snape could easily out him as a fake. That couldn't happen until he figured out his purpose in this world. "Explain how you learned Occlumency."

"I didn't," Harry stated truthfully. He had tried to learn it, sure, but he had not mastered the technique. It was through sheer will and determination he had been able to clear his thoughts out there in the sitting room, just like those times during the past year where he had forced himself to concentrate on what was happening around him instead of inside his mind.

Snape didn't believe him, of course, as suspicious as always. _Glad to know some things don't change._ "I do not appreciate being lied to," the man hissed, voice barely above a whisper. Never a good sign. "Tell the truth for once in your miserable life."

Without batting an eyelash, Harry answered as calmly as he could, "I'm not lying. I think it would be a disgrace to Occlumens everywhere to call it Occlumency, what I was doing. I don't know the first thing about the art. I only know how to clear my mind."

"Crude, Potter, very crude." Snape's lip curled in distaste. "Or am I to believe you have no idea your pathetic mind could hold so much more potential?"

"What are you getting at, Professor?"

Measured steps brought the Potions Master closer, where he trapped his student in the chair with an arm on either side. "Speak, boy. How did you learn Occlumency? Are you learning the Dark Arts as well?" The last part was spoken in a deadly whisper and too close for personal comfort.

Audibly swallowing, Harry considered what to say next. His answers weren't cutting him any slack, so he settled for hazarding a, "What is it you want me to say, sir?"

"You're not Potter," Snape stated crisply, a clear accusation. "He knows nothing of mind magic. _You_ are not _him_."

Inwardly, Harry panicked, but his voice betrayed no such feelings, remaining strangely calm. "That's absurd. Who else could I be? Go ahead. Ask me something only I would know." He just prayed Snape kept the question simple. Though that was a gamble he was willing to take if it meant getting the man off his back for a while.

Snape surprised him by saying, "Just one? How cowardly. Another point against you, Mr. _Potter_. Where's that infinite courage of yours?"

_I thought this Harry wasn't a Gryffindor._ His confusion must have slipped onto his face because Snape drew back, smirking. _Stupid! He's doing this to get a rise out of you. _He wished he knew what House this Harry really was in, it would make a reply that much easier. "I don't know what you're getting at, Professor. But I refuse to play twenty questions with you. I'm tired, my arm is killing me, and you're wonderfully imposing presence isn't helping my headache in the slightest."

"While your vocabulary astounds even me, Potter, what are you trying to imply?" Snape was too gleeful for someone that should have been insulted. Harry scowled. "Ah, but let me elaborate. Twenty questions, if I'm not much mistaken, is a _Muggle_ expression. Not that playing such a game doesn't sound promising with an _imposter_."

Harry's uninjured hand curled into a fist from where it rested in his lap. He had to force himself to relax, to keep his face blank. He even restrained himself from glancing at the door, the only escape. Snape would be looking for signs of weakness and he wasn't going to give anything away that he hadn't already. "My Aunt's a Muggle, _sir_," he bit out, cool as ice, green eyes ablaze. "Or did Mum lie when she said you two were childhood friends? _Best_ friends?"

"Enough, Potter!"

Finally, a reaction he could do something with. Harry grinned and pressed his advantage. "It's true, isn't it? That you grew up in a Muggle neighborhood with my mum?"

Snape hissed something that could have been a warning.

"Not just anyone could know _that_, or am I wrong?" He knew he was pushing it, but he couldn't help it. It was an old habit, goading Snape, and it would work in his favor this time. At least the inevitable fury would bring about better results than the questioning.

"Don't pretend to know anything about me," the man snapped, "or should I tell everyone about your hidden talent?"

"It's not exactly a talent, is it, sir?" Harry spoke in such a way that could be mistaken for arrogance. "Anyone can clear their mind."

"Oh, I agree," Snape stated vehemently, "even an idiot could clear worthless thoughts away. But you, boy, explain how you went beyond that. Securing those thoughts away from prying eyes, hiding them. That was beyond a beginner's level at Occlumency. If you are who you say you are, then you _must_ have a tutor. Who is it?"

_Damn, what's with him? He refuses to be distracted, even with the mention of mum. _Resigned to his fate, Harry sighed and closed his eyes. "Fine. If you must know, Professor, I started learning it earlier this summer." The lie fell easily from his lips, too easily, and he had to hide a wince by dropping his gaze to the floor, his messy hair falling into his face. "My tutor," he glanced back up, half smiling, "isn't someone to take lightly. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you who he is, Professor." He had purposefully dropped that one hint to give the man something to appease his curiosity. "After all, why should I tell you anything?"

Snape was sneering again, but it didn't seem directed at him this time, as odd as that was to realize. "Whoever _he_ is, I'm afraid he's wasting your talent."

_Okay, what did this Snape do with my Snape's personality and why?_ He could barely contain his shock at what could have been construed as a compliment. _No, Potter, you're just going crazy. Or maybe you already were, which explains why you're alive when you're supposed to be dead. _Reminding himself whose company he was in, he made sure to keep his eyes on the floor. "What are you trying to say? That I should …" _He can't be suggesting … before he thought I was …_Ah, there. That was the catch. This was Snape's way of keeping an eye on him, the 'imposter'. _And a great way to see inside my mind at the same time,_ he thought bitterly, memories flooding to the forefront of his mind.

"Learn to finish your sentences," Snape drawled, studying his potion stained fingers out of boredom, "and yes, Potter. If you would be ever so kind as to grace me with your presence during the school year, I'd be _so wonderfully_ delighted." The heavy sarcasm was not lost on Harry, who snorted. "Something funny?"

"You just … can't be serious, sir."

"Can't I?" An eyebrow was raised sardonically. "I suppose I was asking too much. Here, let me make it simpler for you. In exchange for me fixing all your nasty aches and pains, you will formally become my pupil in the art of Occlumency and mine alone."

_Ugh, what is he? Obsessed? _That thought was too disturbing to let continue and he allowed his mind to shut down. It was probably more prudent to ask _and if I don't want to?_ But what came out was, "Do I have a choice?"

"No, Potter, I'm afraid you don't."

"Then by all means, Professor. Do what you want." He allowed his carefully blank state of mind to carry over into the Healing process, lest Snape catch him unawares. _Moody would be proud. Constant vigilance._


	3. Adjustment

**A/N: **Another slow chapter, but thankfully thanks should speed up by the next one. This was more or less like setting the stage for the future, so. Let's see how it goes. Thanks for reading! All reviews are welcome.

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter for full disclaimer.

* * *

_Chapter Three – Adjustment_

It was just as Harry had expected. During that one hour alone with Snape, he was treated both unfairly and subjected to intermittent Legilimency, the likes of which set his teeth on edge. He left the room soon after, mind drugged from healing and slipping, and headed to the nearest bathroom to hide away. He needed some time to think. His mind was out of sorts and he needed a chance to get his thoughts back in order. It was strange, to know his memories were there, but buried beneath some kind of dense fog. _Ama_z_ing what you can do when forced,_ Harry thought bitterly and rested his forehead against the cool underside of the sink. It felt good against his feverish skin.

Bit by bit, he released the careful control over his emotions and let the memories overwhelm him. First were the memories from the Dursleys. The cupboard under the stairs, the borderline malnutrition, the emotional abuse, the realization he wasn't normal, that he could never be normal, because could do _extraordinary_ things. He snorted, with the cynical thought, _If I'm so extraordinary, why don't I _feel_ extraordinary?_

There should have been a sense of pride, of accomplishment, when the memory of Voldemort's defeat washed over him like a wave onto the shore. There should have been _something_, but all he felt was that same hollow feeling that had led to this. This world that wasn't his. More memories swept into his mind, making it harder to breathe. Ginny, kissing him. Hermione, hugging him. Ron, punching his shoulder, laughing with him. _That_ was what he had given up.

And for what? Where was he now? For a moment he couldn't remember, his thoughts too disjointed to tell, but a knock on the bathroom door jarred him out of it and he came crashing back to reality. His heartbeat calmed and he breathed out slowly. He had to get it together. Nothing was wrong. Nothing had happened with Snape. No need to go making anyone suspicious, especially not with _Snape_ still in the house. Wait - _was_ the man still in the house?

"Harry? Are you all right?" That sounded like the young girl – Daisy, wasn't it? _My sister_, he thought blankly. He probably should have been concerned how clinically he was approaching this, but the detachment didn't bother him. It made things easier.

It was something he had never been able to do, to fully let go of all feeling and just observe. _Is it because I forced the Occlumency? Will I always feel life this after I use it? I wouldn't mind, I guess …Wonder if Snape feels the same way._ That last stray thought had him shaking his head. Why did he care? "I'm fine," he said, half to convince himself. "Could you leave me alone for a bit?"

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. "Potter, get out here and stop acting the fool!" Well, that answered his question about whether Snape was in the house or not. Great, just great.

"Heh, thanks, Professor. But I can take it from here," Daisy didn't seem affected by intimidating the man. On the contrary, she seemed amused for some reason. "Are you staying, then? I heard mum asking you to …"

"Potter, stop hiding and get out here _now_."

Harry almost pointed out that he wasn't the only Potter around these days, but that would have been counter-productive. He swallowed a grimace and allowed his mind to go slack even as he fought off wave after wave of drowsiness from he potions he had been given. Surely that had been the man's intention, to make him more lucid, more susceptible to a mental attack, but he couldn't give him that advantage. Intentional or not, his mind was vulnerable at the moment.

He was stiff from sitting on the floor, but he didn't let it show, relaxing his muscles just as he pushed open the door. "You wanted to see me, Professor?" he played along, curling his lips into a mockery of a smile. "Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all, "I didn't know using the loo was against the law. Why don't you arrest me and get it over with? Cart me off to Azkaban, for all I care." _Go ahead, yell. Get angry. _

Snape considered him for a long moment, as if seriously thinking that idea over. "As entertaining as your melodramatics are, I am not the one who wants your attention. Your sister has been standing out here for at least five minutes, waiting. Do you make it a habit to ignore those who care about you, Mr. Potter?" It was said with such scorn and so quickly that Harry didn't have a chance to hide his pained expression. The lapse must have caught the man's attention further for those dark eyes sharpened and sought out green.

Harry wouldn't allow it and locked eyes with Daisy. "I'm sorry," he stated, sincere, "for making you worry." It was easy to say, even easier when he imagined her as Hermione or Ron or Ginny. He had left those few that cared about him behind and he would likely never see them again. Not _them. _But here were people that cared about him - this Harry - and he had to remind himself it was normal. Normal to be surrounded by people who cared and loved and worried and _felt_. That was how life was meant to be lived, through feeling.

"It's okay," Daisy soothed, placing a hand on his arm. He stayed still before realizing she needed reassure from him. Inwardly sighing, he touched her hand and let a smile fall into place.

"I'm fine," he repeated, voice low, "I just felt sick to my stomach. Must have been something," he switched his gaze pointedly to the Potions Master, "_he_ gave me."

"Don't flatter yourself," Snape sneered, "for that implies I would take the time to taint one of my own potions. And for you. Don't make me laugh."

"You can _laugh_?" Harry asked, feigning shock. "Amazing."

"Why don't you keep talking and find out firsthand what I am capable of?" The threat was spoken caressingly, like silk across skin, and it promised imminent pain.

Despite knowing that tone well, Harry shivered. Was this Snape even on the side of Light? What if _this_ Snape wanted a Dark apprentice?_ How ironic_, his inner voice sneered, sounding remarkably like the Professor, _that he should be Lily Potter's son._

"Spell got your tongue, Potter?"

_Oh, you _wish. "No, sir. Er, did you need something, sir?" He placed a protective arm around his 'sister', pulling her close. She didn't object. Odd, coming from such a headstrong girl. "If not, would you kindly leave?"

"Harry!" The girl sounded aghast. "That's Professor Snape you're talking to!"

"I can see that, thanks," replied Harry.

"I think Ms. Potter is trying to tell you to keep quiet," Snape delighted in pointing out, "so I suggest you do." Then he turned, robes billowing out behind him, and started for the kitchen. "Coming, children?"

Harry bit his lip, hard, to stop from saying anything smart. It wouldn't have been smart, after all, if he ended up hexed six ways to Sunday.

+.+.+

The kitchen was packed full, people crammed around the small dining table, the counters, everywhere. Harry blinked and tried to take in all the faces at once, a mistake that made him dizzy with the realization that they were all here for him. That this was _his_ party. In some twisted way he had everything, while the other Harry had nothing.

_What purpose is there in living? _That was what he had wanted to ask Time, but he had been refused and sent here, left to figure it out for himself. Now he had to find out what his purpose truly was in order to get rid of it and bring back the other Harry back. There had to be a way.

He must have looked out of it because the room's level of noise had dropped considerably as soon as he had entered. Daisy was at his side, while Professor Snape was beside his mother, giving the room at large a distasteful once over. He felt an almost-smile tug at his lips, but caught himself and played up the hapless victim routine. "I think my Professor just tried to poison me," he said woefully, biting his lip again, but this time to stop a laugh. The utter look of loathing thrown his way was to be expected and nothing short of comical._ I've seen better glares on a bunny,_ he thought loudly, just daring Snape to use Legilimency.

To his disappointment, the man did not take the bait, but black eyes did linger - and that didn't go unnoticed. Sirius let out a warning growl, switching Snape's attention to him. "Something you wanted to say?" asked the Potions Master deftly. "Ah, but to reassure your obvious doubts - no, I did not poison the boy. He seems to be a pathological liar these days; you really should have that looked at. Perhaps admit him to St. Mungo's for some wonderful psychiatric help?"

Harry tensed, uncomfortable. Had anyone noticed the subtle hinting in the man's voice besides him? Letting his gaze wander the room while Sirius and Snape had it out, he found that one person _had_ taken the hint, a boy a few years younger than him. Someone he didn't know on sight. There was suspicion in those piercing blue eyes, along with a pain that Harry couldn't understand. Turning away from the strange kid, he eyed the door just a pace or two behind him. If he could shake off Daisy and get to the door, was it possible he could make it outside for some fresh air? He could use the excuse of taking Albie for a walk …

As if knowing what he was up to Daisy dragged him further away from the door and closer to the people seeking his attention. He smiled politely when it was expected, talked when it couldn't be avoided, and found out a few things about this Harry that ensured the experience was worth it. For one, people kept complimenting how smart and quiet and _good_ he was at everything he tried. Harry had a hard time swallowing that. No doubt everyone was expecting him to excel, while he was just hoping to pass the next school year.

He had never been exceptional when it came to school; that was Hermione. According to most of the people here, however, he could give Hermione Granger a run for her money. Not as appealing a thought as, say, Voldemort being non-existent. He had his work cut out for him if he had to pretend to be an over-achiever.

_No wonder Snape made that comment about vocabulary …_he thought ruefully, glancing at the man in question. Thankfully he wasn't under close scrutiny right now. Snape seemed more interested in his drink, preoccupied by something as he swirled the dark red liquid. _He hasn't changed nearly as much everyone else. _It was odd to admit, no matter how true, but Snape didn't seem to expect as much. Not like everyone else. _Except … oh, Occlumency? _He looked away, casual as could be, hoping no one had caught him staring. No such luck, his gaze locked with the boy from earlier and the suspicion there had heightened to a whole new level.

His brow furrowed in would-be confusion and he moved forward to confront the boy, find out what was wrong. He didn't get very far before someone intercepted him, chatting his ear off about something he wasn't interested in. Instead of listening, he took to observing the rest of the people here. There weren't too many kids his age, he noticed, only his brother and sister and that strange boy that looked vaguely familiar. The bone structure in the kid's face was familiar, at least. And the eyes, he had seen them somewhere else before. _Blue eyes, brown hair … could he be …?_ He cut that thought short, determined not to assume things until they were proven as fact.

"Wotcher, Harry!"

The pleasant voice drew Harry's attention away from the boy and his gaze locked onto the new arrival enveloping him in a hug. He grinned slightly and hugged her back, tugging at a spiky lock of pink hair in an almost reproach. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Well, I wasn't really sneaking, Harry. You know I'm awful at things like that." Tonks winked and threw a companionable arm around his shoulders. "But you did look like you could use some saving. Was Drawlish that boring?" She paused, thought that over, and laughed. "On second thought, don't answer that. He probably was boring you to tears! But," and here she sounded curious, "why were you staring at Kaine? Something I should know?" She was waggling her eyebrows in a _much_ too suggestive manner. Harry paled. "A simple no would have sufficed," she tried to say seriously, but failed and laughed instead. "Sorry, Harry. Couldn't let you off on that one. That's my cousin you were eyeing!"

_Cousin?_ "Er, I …" What exactly did you say to something like that? _Hey, Tonks, could you explain how he's your cousin and why he keeps looking at me like he wishes to burn a hole through my head? _No, that wouldn't work. He needed something more – well, he wasn't sure what he needed at this point and settled for, "If you'll excuse me, I think I need some fresh air." The boy had slipped outside, apparently seething, and he intended to follow.

Tonks nodded and let him go without too much of a fuss. She made a bee-line for Remus after leaving him and he hid a smile. They were probably together; or at least in the early stages of _some_ kind of relationship. His destination clear, he slipped out through the back door, never noticing the black eyes that refused to leave him.

+.+.+

"He's acting strangely," a soft voice whispered into thin air, "I thought you said the potion wouldn't effect his actions."

Harry, taking refuge behind the garden fence, raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Was Kaine alone and talking to himself? Or was there someone there, unseen? When another voice, deeper and more masculine, answered, it was obvious they had company of the uninvited sort. The person remained cloaked in shadows, refusing to be seen.

"I thought we discussed this already, Black. The potion was meant to relinquish control. Wasn't he a bit out of sorts all morning?"

"I wouldn't know," Kaine snapped, "I made sure I had an alibi for my whereabouts. I was busy at the bookshop, working off what I owed for Harry's birthday present. Is that a problem?"

The unknown person scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "Remind me never to trust you with such delicate proceedings. That potion was made by the best, as you well know, but you should have been there to ensure it worked!"

From his hiding spot, Harry grimly wondered if the potion had anything to do with the drowning. If it relinquished control, would that explain why he hadn't fought to live? Rain fell steadily from above, distorting what he could see through his glasses, but he didn't let it bother him. He wanted to hear what they were saying, not see. His concentration was focused solely on their conversation. Some words were too quiet to hear, but he made out Kaine's reply of "Professor Snape", "watching", and "don't like it" despite the whispering.

He slid his wand out and cast a silencing spell on himself as he retreated from the scene. Once he was far enough away, he flicked his wand, erasing his muddy footprints in the backyard, and then flicked it again to clean the mud from his boots. He would have to put up with the rain soaked hair, though. His mind was far from testing out drying charms.

+.+.+

The rest of the party went smoothly as far as Harry was concerned. His presents were mostly books, the subjects varying depending on who bought them. There was an anonymous one full of advanced Potions - he spared a shrewd glance at Snape - one on Animagi from his father, a massive tome about Charms from his mother, and a strange diary that came from Kaine. Neville had given him one on Herbology and Luna had crafted together a photo album that held some of the more entertaining aspects of this Harry's life. He had smiled genuinely at her thoughtfulness, happy to have something that connected him to this world and could help.

As he could have guessed, he received the traditional clock from his parents, but this one was enchanted to let him know where every member of his family currently resided. All five little hands rested at 'Godric's Hollow' for now. "It can be set as an alarm or it can remind you of appointments if you need it to," James added, "but if you want to learn how to do that, best ask your mum."

"Yes, can't have the brat forgetting to tie his own shoes. Maybe, with a bit of luck, he'll actually manage to be on time this year." Most of the guests ignored the disdainful comment from Snape, but James and Sirius leveled the man a glare worthy of envy. Clearly they only tolerated the professor for Lily's sake. Harry was curious as to the story behind that, but he could wait. He had been far too impatient in the past when it came to his insatiable curiosity, but he was determined to master it this time, instead of letting it rule him blindly. That mistake wasn't one he was willing to make again. _I never did apologize to Snape for fifth year,_ he realized unhappily.

His obsession with Draco Malfoy and the Half-Blood Prince had distracted him, and then the year after that he had been stuck wandering around the countryside in secret, refusing to believe anything good of the man. He had been foolish enough for two and a half lifetimes the past few years; it was about time he grew up. _No matter how annoying he can get._

That same calming haze settled over his mind, the one he was beginning to associate with Occlumency, as he allowed himself to be dragged back to the present where a couple more gifts waited to be unwrapped. Aidan had gotten him a book on the Elemental Spells. Daisy had gone out of her way to create a wooden coo-coo clock that made him laugh. And last but not least, his godfather had bought him the latest broomstick out on the market, the Sunflare 3000, recklessly spoiling him. He flushed, first embarrassed and then angry that his Occlumency block had decided to flee the first chance it got. _Great, even my mind's against me. How encouraging._

He heard a low, raspy chuckle and glared at the source of the noise. Then it sunk in who he was glaring at and he instinctively took a step back. "What's so funny, Professor?" he ground out.

Snape only smirked and turned away, engaging another Order member in conversation. _Get it together, Potter. He's doing it on purpose!_ Not an encouraging thought since he would have to put up with_ that_ all year long. At least he had another month to prepare for the worst.

Excusing himself early, he headed upstairs to the guest bedroom Sirius said he could use. He didn't feel so great and Emmeline had been insistent that he should sleep off the majority of the healing potions sooner rather than later. _Might as well escape before they start forcing cake on me, _he didn't think his stomach could handle that at the moment. A flicker of a smile appeared on his face when he reached the spare bedroom, the plaque above it reading 'Harry's Home Away From Home'. He must have spent many nights here to earn the right to such a title.

Without a backwards glance, he pushed the door open, closed it behind himself, and slid down to rest with his back against it. The bed looked comfortable, but he was too tired to care. This was all too much to absorb. People that shouldn't be alive were downstairs parading around like it was nothing. More than one Death Eater was in the house, no one seeing them for what they were, and he was expected to go on as normal. As if his life was perfectly fine. Was this life perfect, though? It seemed that way, but what about Kaine? There was dark, purposeful intention in the boy's every move. No, this life wasn't as perfect as it seemed. There was so much to learn, so much that was expected of him …

He drifted off into a fitful sleep before he could even feel the weight of those expectations. Before he could think _nothing's changed_, since almost everything had.

+.+.+

_There was laughter and music, the clink of glass on glass, eager murmuring in the background. It was a party, but he wasn't the center of attention here and he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't expected to be anything great, just an ordinary boy enjoying an ordinary evening out. Someone was in his arms, dancing with him, the curves feminine and the build slighter. It was nice to hold someone like this, for the sake of holding and dancing and nothing else. No expectations. He was free. _

_The scene changed and he was laughing, dragging the pretty blonde girl behind him into a back alley. She pushed him up against a wall and then they were kissing, frenzied and desperate to feel alive. It felt good and at the same time something was wrong. He couldn't pull away, she wasn't letting go of his wrists, she wasn't _Ginny_, and he pleaded with her to let go, that this wasn't right._

_Her laugh turned dark when it rang through the air again, sending chills down his spine. The hands holding him pinned tightened and he realized there would be no escape; she was a witch, she had immobilized him long before his rational mind had caught up. There would be bruises left behind, thousands of them, when she was done._

_But why? He wanted to shout, scream, cry, rave, anything to get her to stop. She must have silenced him, though, because he couldn't make a sound, not even a whimper as control slipped away. _

Harry woke up to a scream tearing from his throat. He was drenched in a cold sweat, shivering. The dream had felt so real. Was it a memory that belonged to the other Harry? Or was it a nightmare?

For some reason he was itching to get his hands on a Divination book, to reread the Dream Oracle and see if he could make head or tails of what he had just seen. He pushed his fingers the soaked hair at his temple, scowling. It was incredulous to think the dream had been anything more than a dream. As if it was prophetic or anything of the sort. He was feeling too out of sorts and the nightmare had reacted to that.

Wasn't that what Hermione would say? It didn't _mean_ anything, it was only his subconscious dealing with the things his conscious mind refused to even think about. _Then why,_ he wanted to know, _was someone taking advantage of me like that? Why was I so relaxed before it happened? _He was too tired to figure out any of it and let it go, calming his racing thoughts as he laid back down on the bed.

A split second later it sank in that he had _not_ been in a bed when he had fallen asleep and he shot back up, eyes wide in the dark as he took in his completely unfamiliar surroundings. _Damn, I let my guard down. I should have set an alarm to wake me up!_ Now that his war-honed senses were on high alert, he could make out the shuffle of feet outside the room. The noise paused by his door and he flattened himself back against the bed, breathing deeply to give off the appearance of sleep. Just in case the door opened. It didn't, and the feet moved on.

_Where the hell am I?_ He reached for his wand, wanting that small comfort, and cursed when he couldn't find it. A search of the bedside table in the dark yielded his glasses, however, and he slid them on. Blurs took shape and he could make out more defined outlines now. He was still in Godric's Hollow, the guest bedroom from earlier, but who had moved him to the bed? More importantly, where was his wand?

He could hear whispers down the hall and fought the instinct to listen at the door. They would know he was awake if he got caught and he wasn't up for a lecture. Still, words drifted in from the hall and he recognized both voices. Snape and his mother. Where was James, asleep?

"Thank you … didn't have to … are you staying?" That was Lily speaking, light and a pitch higher than her normal tone. Was she nervous, upset? He couldn't make heads or tails of anything, his head felt like it was spinning.

"No need. I should be getting back." Why could he hear Snape more clearly than his mother? Was he purposely raising his voice? "Make sure he takes this when he wakes up. It should ease the residual pain." There was a rustling as something was handed over. "Remind him that I _will_ be contacting him. I don't work for free."

Lily had the audacity to laugh at that, as if it was a joke. It wasn't, but how was he going to explain that to his mum? _Oh, by the way, I traded my mind so he would get off his high horse and heal me. Do you think he'll go easy on me if I remind him I'm related to you? _He couldn't see that going over well.

With a sigh, he pulled the covers tight around himself and fell back asleep. Tomorrow would bring another day. Perhaps things would be clearer in the morning.

+.+.+

"Mum, Harry looks ill!"

_Thanks for that, what amazing powers of observation you have._ Harry scowled in the direction of his brother and the boy quickly dropped his gaze, fidgeting.

They were staying at Sirius' for breakfast and soon they would be headed home. While Harry was eager to see what his real home actually looked like, he knew he would have to convince his godfather to let him stay here. Albie, for one, had to be given back to Emily before the end of the summer. He also needed some time alone, time he wouldn't get with siblings hanging around. _And Kaine, I'll be able to keep an eye on him if I'm here. Find out what he's up to. _

"Harry's fine, Aidan, stop worrying." Lily set a small potion vial in front of him and Harry pushed it away. He knew what it was and he didn't want it. There was no pain, or so he kept telling himself. "What are you doing? Drink up. And you should thank Severus when you get the chance. It was kind of him to give you that."

_Not if it's poison,_ Harry thought glumly, picking up the bottle. Under his mother's watchful gaze, he tipped it back and drank - then promptly grimaced at the taste. The man hadn't even tried to make it taste good, had he? "Cheers."

"I don't envy you," Aidan was smirking, but stopped when he caught sight of the withering glare aimed at him by Daisy. She certainly had a temper, that one. "What? I don't! You know how the greasy git is."

"Yes, but _you're_ not always on the receiving end like me and Harry!" That was an interesting piece of information; Harry stored it away for later, half-wondering if they were singled out because of their eyes. They were the only ones with Lily's eyes.

"To be honest, I think he fancies Harry." With all the grace and tact of a teenage boy, Harry choked on his pumpkin juice. His brother was kidding, right? By the triumphant smirk, Aidan _was_ joking, but it was impossible to take back what he said. _I'm traumatized,_ Harry thought dramatically, which digressed into laughter as Lily rapped her knuckles against the boy's head.

"Enough, you two. There will be plenty of time to tease each other after breakfast." She turned back to the stove where she was cooking up a storm. Almost literally, with pots flying this way and that. "You're lucky your father's not here, Aidan. He hates when you bring up Severus at the dining table."

Around a mouthful of porridge, Aidan mumbled, "Well, yeah, he is a greasy bastard. Doesn't sit right with food."

"Aidan Albus Potter!" Harry winced along with his brother. "Don't you dare -" They didn't get to hear the rest of it because Sirius and James had finally stumbled into the kitchen, howling with laughter and talking loudly. Lily rounded on them. "Keep it down! Emmeline had a late shift last night. And you," she arched an eyebrow at James, "how are you still awake? I know for a fact you were with her!"

"Come on, Lils," James tried to soothe, holding up his hands in the universal sign of peace, "I have to be at work in two hours. How do you think I'm awake?"

An angry flush spread on Lily's cheeks. "We've had this argument before, James. Stay. Out. Of. My. Potions!"

Harry took that as his cue to leave. He didn't really need to see his parents fighting. This was all too raw and new. Snagging a piece of toast, he headed outside with a little redhead following him step for step. If he wasn't mistaken, Daisy was probably closer to him to Aidan and he didn't mind the company.

Albie was tied up a short distance away from the garden and he changed course mid-stride, his sister colliding into his side. He apologized, flashed a smile, and led her over for introductions. After his story, carefully edited around certain events, they both shared their breakfast with the collie and told tales of wild animals, eventually leading into a game of 'would you rather' that Daisy confessed she had learned from their mother's diary.

+.+.+

They were getting ready to leave when Harry put his plan into motion. "Sirius, could we talk for a minute?" He smiled apologetically at his mom and followed Sirius into the kitchen. He cut straight to the point, "I'd like to stay until summer is over … would that be all right?"

Sirius gave him a long, considering look and then took a seat on the edge of the counter, ungraceful as could be. "What brought this on?" There was a pause as his dark brows drew together in a frown. "Is Kaine pestering you again? Look, I know you two get on, but you need to stop letting him get away with everything before -"

As interesting as all that was to hear, Harry interrupted. "No, Sirius. It isn't Kaine this time." That seemed the safest way to defuse the situation – and it worked, Sirius relaxed somewhat. "I just …" Now how to put the rest of it. "I need some space and it's nice here. Plus -" He glanced purposely at the back door. "Albie isn't mine to keep and I would feel bad if I wasn't the one taking care of him. Mum said we can't take him with us."

"Well," Sirius hesitated, "I guess. But Lily won't be happy. Have you asked her about this yet?" He snorted, obviously coming to his own conclusion. "Obviously not. She's not yelling my ear off." Jumping off from the counter, Sirius started for the door. "Let's not waste time, come on."

"We're telling her now?"

"No, we're going out for coffee. Of course we're telling her now!" Sirius let out a laugh like a bark, a laugh that Harry had sorely missed. "Are you sure you're Harry?" It was meant as a joke, but Harry was glad his godfather had already passed him by, not waiting, because he couldn't hide a small finch at that question. "Oh, right." Sirius glanced back just as Harry was schooling his features and the tone implied what he was going to say next was important. "Keep an eye on Kaine. I think his housemates might have put some ideas in his head. And I don't think they were good ideas."

Harry nodded absently, mind elsewhere. "Will do, but first … let's see if mum will let me stay."

"Right." Sirius gave him another considering look. "Whatever you're up to, kiddo, be careful."

"Who says I'm up to anything?" Harry asked innocently.

"You're _always_ up to something."

That seemed to hold true no matter what world he was in; the familiarity was kind of comforting.


End file.
